War Dreams
by Suz Singer
Summary: Aeres has been a slave in the household of Marius Honorius for years. Biding her time, waiting for her chance at freedom. When Arthur Castus and his Sarmatian Knights arrive to bring the Romans to safety, Aeres finds that she is no simple slave. Their chance meeting changes her destiny, and the destiny of all Britain and Sarmatia as well.
1. Chapter 1

**War Dreams**

 **Part 1: Little Girl Lost**

 **Chapter 1**

As dawn's morning light streamed through the slats of the shutters on the window, a young girl stretched her limbs as she slowly woke. Her dark, curly hair tumbled down around her shoulders as she sat up, rubbing her eyes vigorously before she opened them; revealing pale blue eyes rimmed by long, dark lashes. Underneath those large eyes were tattoos from her homeland; four blue-black ovals in descending size under each eye. Her form was short and scrawny- she had the barest hint of womanly curves, even years after her first blood had come.

Decima woke at dawn in order to start her day's work. She crept off her thin straw pallet quietly, folding her threadbare blanket upon it. She cast a glance across the chamber. Her master Alecto had not yet stirred in his fur-covered bed, for which she let out a breath of relief. She grabbed the empty pitcher from the wash stand, and left the chamber silently, dashing down the hall towards the well that sat just outside the kitchens.

"No running, Decima!" the Cook Atia snapped when the girl dashed by. "If you break something, you know they'll flog you!" Atia, an old woman with frizzy gray hair and a pot-belly, warned her. Decima immediately slowed to a walk, crossing the last few paces to the well slowly. She filled her pitcher with the clear, cold water; keeping her eyes down, on her task, avoiding the gazes of other slaves and guards in the courtyard.

"Decima," a low voice called behind her, hot breath on her neck making her skin crawl. "It's been so long since I've seen you…fancy a tumble?" Along with the lewd offer, a wandering hand and squeezed her backside painfully.

"No, Septimus, I must get back to Dominus Alecto," Decima uttered, trying to pull away from the man's grip as she tried to keep from dropping the clay pitcher.

"Come on, Decima! The young Dominus will grow tired of your cunt soon enough…then you will be back with me. Ripe for the picking- wouldn't you like that, Decima? To be back with your own again?" Septimus hissed threateningly.

"Septimus! If the young Dominus were to hear you were touching Decima, he'd have you put into the dungeon!" Atia called from the doorway to the kitchens.

"I would." A firm voice called from above. Alecto stood at the window overlooking the courtyard. "Septimus, I advise you to unhand my slave. Otherwise I will take that hand and give it to the dogs," Alecto remarked with a scowl.

Septimus released Decima at once, taking a few steps back with a sullen expression on his face. "Maybe Dominus will tire of me. But if I do leave his service, you can count on having your manhood bitten off if it comes anywhere near me," Decima informed him, smirking when she saw the man blanch.

"Decima," Alecto said sharply. "To me," he directed, his dark eyes watchful as she started back towards the kitchens.

"I'll be sure to not put it anywhere near your mouth then," Septimus said low, so that Alecto could not hear. Nevertheless, the Roman's eyes narrowed when Decima paused and looked back.

"Another word, Septimus, and I will have that hand," Alecto said, his voice ringing through the courtyard.

Decima took this moment as chance to scurry inside. "The young Dominus will want sweetmeats for breakfast. I will be back for them once he is ready," Decima told Atia quickly.

"They will be ready. Go on and attend to him," The old cook said, waving her on.

Decima nodded in thanks and hurried back to Alecto's chambers. Her master was reclining in bed, a hand rubbing at his eyes.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Dominus," Decima uttered softly, placing the filled pitcher of water on the washstand.

"It's fine, Decima. I am angry, though, that those men still do not understand that I do not want you to be touched," Alecto responded sourly. Decima merely looked at the ground, knowing better than to answer. "Take off your dress and come here," he ordered, pulling his sleeping shirt over his head.

Decima took a deep breath and obeyed. Alecto thought the rough cloth irritated her skin, so he kept her dressed in soft linens. Cast-offs of his mother's. Decima pulled at the clasps on her shoulders, and then let the dress fall to the floor. Decima shook out her long, dark hair and climbed into Alecto's feather-bed.

"On your knees," Alecto instructed her as he rose up on his own knees. Decima positioned herself on her hands and knees, looking out towards the balcony she faced. She grimaced as she felt her master grip her hips. She fixed her gaze on a particular stone of the wall outside as it began, and did her best to think of her name. Her _real_ name, carved into the polished stone that hung round her neck.

As Alecto groaned loudly, emptying himself inside her, he collapsed atop Decima, crushing her to the bed. ' _One day, boy, I will be Aeres again, and I will cut off that worm between your legs before I let it touch me again,_ ' she swore to herself, gripping the polished stone around her neck harder.

Alecto rolled off of her, breathing heavily. "Get my breakfast, Decima. I am hungry," he ordered.

"Yes, Dominus," Decima said quietly, crawling off the bed carefully as she felt a dull throb between her legs. She picked up the linen peplos from the floor and quickly dressed, pinning it carefully before leaving her Master's chamber again. Decima did not run to the kitchen this time. If she had, she would no doubt be in agony. She entered the kitchens, moving carefully and strategically. The old cook Atia noticed this, cocking her head to the side. "Is the young Dominus' breakfast ready?" Decima asked.

Atia nodded, sliding a tray towards the young slave. "When you have a moment, girl, I'll make a tea for you to make sure his seed don't grow in you," She told Decima quietly.

Decima merely nodded. "Thank you, Atia," she murmured, taking the tray and carrying it up to Alecto's chambers. When she entered, Alecto stood before the washstand, running a wet linen cloth over his body to clean himself.

"I've had enough of these cold washings, Decima. I would like a hot bath tonight," the young man informed her idly, not taking his eyes from his task.

"Then you shall have it, Dominus," Decima said in response, setting his breakfast on the desk where her master liked to eat.

Alecto grinned over his shoulder at her. "I need fresh clothing." he said, and Decima crossed to his wardrobe to draw a toga out. She brought it to her master and helped him dress, wrapping it around him carefully. "Once I am done eating, you may take the tray back to the kitchen and break your fast there," Alecto informed her as he sat at his desk to start eating.

"Yes, Dominus," Decima uttered in response; moving towards his bed in order to collect the soiled linens, his sleep-shirt, his discarded clothing from the day before, and placed them carefully by the door. She returned to make his bed, tucking the linen sheets in and spreading the furs to cover them. Then she went to his shelf, drawing out his scrolls, lead stylus and wax tablet; bringing it all over to Alecto's desk and stacking them carefully to the side as he ate.

Alecto had eaten his fill of the sweetmeats, leaving only a few scraps on his plate. He took one in his fingers and held it up to Decima's mouth. Decima reluctantly parted her lips and let her master place it on her tongue. "A treat for an obedient slave," Alecto said with a smile. Decima did her best to smile at him as she swallowed the delicious treat. "You can take this tray now. And take the water too, I want fresh water when you return," he instructed.

"Yes, Dominus," Decima said, leaning past him to take hold of the tray, only for him to grasp her arm.

"Do not be gone too long, Decima. You get into trouble when you are not in my presence, more often than not," Alecto ordered.

"As you say, Dominus," Decima took the tray to the washstand where she poured the dirty water back into the pitcher and placed it on the tray to carry down with her. She walked slowly again this time, careful for the heavy clay pitcher on her tray. She exhaled in relief when she safely slid the tray onto a table in the kitchens. Decima took hold of the pitcher as Atia reached for the tray. "The young Master has given me leave to break my fast here," She informed the old cook.

Atia nodded. "Your tea is ready in any case," she responded. Decima stepped out of the kitchens to quickly dump out the dirty water, then placing it safely out of the way to fill once she had eaten. When she returned to sit in front of the hearth to eat, one of Atia's assistants brought her a plate of bread and cheese, along with a steaming cup of tea that looked like mud.

Decima's nose wrinkled at the sight of it, and Atia's assistant- Cora- giggled. "Atia says you have to drink it all to be sure it works," She instructed. Cora was younger than Decima by a few years, twelve winters old if you believed her, but she looked closer to ten. She had joined the kitchens staff at Domina Fulcinia's word, and she sent the pittances she made back to her family in the village. From what Decima heard, Cora had a widow for a mother and several little siblings who lived on the wages. All Decima could think was that at least the girl had her freedom, at least she made a pittance.

Decima didn't; she was a slave, a slave ever since she was a child. She remembered little about the time before she became a slave, but she did remember that night. The Romans had come; burning her village to the ground. They killed all the men, and took all the women and children and sold them to slavery. Even her proud father, their tribe's leader, Decima thinks, had been slaughtered beneath a Roman's sword.

"Thank you Cora," Decima said, looking into the flames of the hearth; watching a stew bubble in its cauldron. She started by drinking the 'tea', which tasted like mud just as much as it looked like mud, but she swallowed it all. Then Cora brought her a cup of water, which Decima immediately drank down in one go.

Cora looked amused, but brought the cup back to her refilled. Decima smiled in thanks, and then quickly ate her breakfast. She brought her plate and cup to Cora, who placed them with the other dirty dishes. She thanked Cora and Atia again, before grabbing her pitcher to fill it with water and then return to Alecto.

Decima placed the filled pitcher quietly on the washstand in Alecto's chambers. Her master did not notice her as he was engrossed in his studies. She took his laundry down to the slaves who cleaned the linens and then returned to Alecto's chambers. When Alecto noticed her idling near him, he chuckled. "Have you completed your morning tasks?" he asked. Decima nodded quickly. "I have no need of anything at the moment. Why don't you rest a while, Decima? I will wake you if I need something," Alecto instructed her.

"Yes, Dominus." Decima responded, moving to her pallet and closing her eyes. She knew sleep would not find her; but she could dream, dream of a day when she was not there to serve a boy's every whim.

 **~WD~WD~WD~**

Decima was just waking when Alecto's father, Marius Honorius, swept into his son's chambers. The short, stout man looked furious at the sight of the slave on her pallet. He immediately looked to his son for explanation. "The slave sleeps while the rest of us work?" Marius cursed, moving toward Decima quickly. He gripped her by her hair, yanking her to her feet with a painful grip.

"Father! She was doing as I said!" Alecto exclaimed, crossing the room and taking his slave from his father's hands.

Marius sneered. "She is a slave, Alecto. She does not get special treatment because you like her cunt," he hissed.

Alecto sighed. "Father, when you gave her to me, you told me I could do with her as I please. And it pleases me to have soft, pretty woman in my bed whenever I like. She does everything I say," he tried to appease his angered father.

"So I did," Marius responded. "I've already had her beaten once to kill your child in her womb. I do not wish to do it again, Alecto." He reminded him, his words making the slave girl flinch.

Alecto's lips formed into a thin line. "Neither do I, Father. The cook gives her something to prevent her becoming with child," Alecto informed his father. Marius sniffed and swept out of the room. Alecto sighed, turning to Decima- who did not dare raise her eyes to him. "I would have you stay here during supper, but I dare say it would anger my father more. You will attend me at supper," he ordered her.

Decima nodded. "Yes, Dominus," she replied softly.

"Fix yourself up. No need to give him another reason to loath you," Alecto said, crossing the room back to his desk to work for a few moments more.

Decima sighed and moved to the washstand, bathing her face, neck and arms with cold water. She plaited her dark hair to the side, securing the plait with a leather tie. She carefully picked up Alecto's heavy vanity mirror. She observed her reflection and judged it appropriate. "I am ready, Dominus," she remarked.

Alecto glanced at her, lips quirking up in a smirk. "So you are." He responded. He stood and left his chambers for the first time all day, Decima on his heels. He walked leisurely through the villa before entering the dining hall. Alecto went straight to his mother, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek.

"My love, you know that I hate when you do not leave your chambers," Domina Fulcinia remarked, lounging like a queen on a couch before the low table.

Alecto chuckled, sitting opposite her, Decima stood at attention behind him. "Mother, where am I right now?" he asked condescendingly. Fulcinia's full lips drooped. "I am in the dining hall, Mother. So I must have left my chambers," Alecto said derisively, raising an empty goblet to Decima's attention.

The slave immediately scurried away to fetch wine for her master. "Your father will hate to see her here," Fulcinia remarked lowly, dark eyes she shared with her son flickering to the young girl.

Alecto scoffed. "He would hate to see her absent too," he responded.

Fulcinia frowned. "If she were absent, he could do nothing," she muttered as Decima returned. The slave poured Alecto's wine carefully before he gestured her away.

"Domina?" Decima asked quietly, holding the wine by Fulcinia's goblet. The older women merely covered her goblet with her hand, and Decima stepped back, holding the wine carefully to her chest.

Alecto drained his goblet with one swallow, making his mother frown again. "So the old man is late. He bothers to come harass my slave intending to call me to supper, but is late himself," he laughed bitterly. He gestured to Decima to fill his goblet again.

Decima moved forward quickly; only to collide with something heavy. The pitcher of wine sloshed over the edges, spilling on the slave and whoever she collided with. The slave lifted horrified eyes to look into Marius Honorius' enraged expression. "Stupid girl!" Marius cursed, backhanding the slave roughly.

The pitcher slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor as Decima lost her balance and fell. The clay shards cut into her limbs as she tried to regain her footing. "Father!" Alecto protested, jumping to his feet.

"No, Alecto! Your slave has grown too spoiled! She cannot even serve wine without fucking it up! Guards!" Marius shouted, gesturing to the armed men at every doorway.

"Dominus, Dominus please, I am sorry," Decima pleaded in a panic.

"Take her to the dungeon! A week down there should teach you to be more diligent!" Marius ordered as a pair of guards approached, pulling the slave to her feet.

"Father, no!" Alecto called, moving forward only for his mother to grasp his arm to stop him.

Decima felt panic rise up in her chest as the guards started to drag her away; their grips bruising her arms. "Dominus! Dominus, please! I didn't mean to!" She cried out to Alecto.

The young man sighed, glancing at his mother. "I know, Decima. I know," he said lowly, before turning away. Soon Decima realized that he would not fight his father to save her from the dungeons, and the girl began to cry.

"Don't cry, girl," One of the guards said with a twisted grin. "At least in the dungeons the only things fucking you are the skeletons," he continued, making the girl cry out in terror.

Decima cried uselessly as the guards dragged her out of the villa and around the gates to the dungeons staffed by crazed priests. Her knees throbbed dully from the guards dragging her down the stairs into the dungeons, and even more as they threw her to the floor in front of one such priest. "What have we here, good sirs?" The priest asked, clasping his hands together in glee as he looked upon the slave.

"A lazy slave, priest. The Dominus gave her to you for a week; I dare say he expects she will be able to work the moment the week is up," The first guard informed him.

"Oh, yesss," The priest praised, his lisp dragging out the 's' sound. "That means we must start the fun right away! She will work when we're done here, there's no doubt!" he continued, taking hold of Decima by the arm. "Help me to chain her," The priest requested as Decima cringed away from him.

The first guard gripped Decima by the back of the neck. "Do as told, whore, or it'll be worse," he warned her, shoving her roughly towards the priest. The priest and guard forced her to the wall, where the priest chained her wrists and ankles; so that she faced the wall.

"This will do nicely, good sir. Go back to your supper," the priest said, dismissing the guard with a nonchalant wave of his hand. The guard left without another thought, as the priest dipped a long poker into a brazier. Decima cried out again as she felt the priest pull at the clips on her shoulders- soon enough, the peplos fell away from her, leaving her nude and vulnerable. "Such soft linen, on a slave? Heresy," the priest hissed, bundling up the peplos and setting it aside.

"Please, my lord, please, I did nothing wrong," Decima begged, her whole body bare and arms beginning to lose feeling as she hung just inches off the ground.

The priest merely laughed. "Maybe you tell the truth. But you are a pagan, my dear, I can tell by those filthy marks on your face. And nothing you say can convince me that your soul is not cursed and deserving of this punishment." He informed her, lifting the poker from the flames.

At the end of the rod was a rounded shape, the insignia of Marius Honorius. The priest pressed the brand against the small of the slave's back, eliciting a shrill scream from her as it burned into her. The priest laughed madly, "Don't get too excited, girl, we're only just starting!" He put aside the brand, and picked up the whip.

At first, Decima screamed. Then she whimpered, and soon she could only flinch as the whip cracked and met her flesh. It felt like an eternity, with only the priest's laughter and the next burning pain to keep her conscious.

Suddenly she was lowered from the wall, and a rough-spun shift being jerked on over her shoulders. That started the pain up all over again, burning like every single wound being inflicted again. "Oh, sweet child, you are done for tonight. You will sleep- well, you can try- with this devilish Woad in the same very cell!" The priest said in a sickeningly sweet tone.

He placed one hand on Decima's shoulder and one on her hip, and pushed, sending the girl rolling over a grate and dropping down into a cell that was lower than the rest of the dungeon.

Decima screamed again as she landed roughly in the cell; her only response the priest's cackling as he shut the cell again. She tried to open her eyes, tried to move, but she was in such agony it hurt to even try to open her eyes. "Shh, shh, girl, don't you move, you hurt," a hoarse voice said beside her.

Careful fingers danced over her skin, and Decima cracked open her eyes to see a blue-tinged woman kneeling beside her. The young woman's fingers were bent oddly, and Decima could see that the lightest of touches the women lent her were terribly painful. But the woman pushed through, wrapping her injured fingers around each of Decima's arms, and dragging her to the side of the cell, where the ground had been cleared of the bones that Decima had so painfully landed on. The woman carefully turned Decima onto her stomach, so that her injured backside would not feel any more pressure.

"You're a Woad…?" Decima wondered slowly, remembering the priest's words. Tears gathered at the edges of her eyes unwillingly.

The woman smiled sadly, brushing the tears away from Decima's eyes. "Yes, child. I am Guinevere," she answered quietly, shifting to sit beside the slave.

"Aeres," the girl responded weakly, surprising herself. She had not uttered the name in years. "I am a slave, they call me Decima," she added, thinking for some reason that her new friend should know this.

Guinevere's eyes crinkled. "Aeres," she uttered, making the slave sigh. "What did you do to deserve this?" she asked.

Again, Aeres sighed. "I spilt wine on the Dominus…" she answered softly, her eyes drifting shut. The Woad's eyes widened in shock and anger; at the thought that the man had this child tortured so savagely for only spilling wine. She glanced back at the slave girl, finding her eyes shut peacefully. Guinevere's clumsy, pain-filled fingers reached and pressed to the girl's neck, and she exhaled in relief when she could feel the girl's heart beating. "We will leave this place, little one. Together," Guinevere promised.

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 **A/N: Brand new story for you all! Curious to hear your thoughts.**


	2. Chapter 2

**War Dreams**

 **Part 1: Little Girl Lost**

 **Chapter 2**

Arthur Castus waited impatiently for the Honorius family to get themselves together in order to leave this godforsaken place. His attention was drawn when he saw the young heir, Alecto, arguing with his father so viciously. But his attention was quickly diverted when he noticed the hasty walling up of a doorway. Soon enough, he had his man Dagonet breaking down both the bricks walling up the door, and then the door.

Lancelot, Arthur, and Dagonet descended the pathway that the door led to. Arthur's heart seized when he reached the bottom of the stairs. This was a dungeon - nay, a torture chamber. "Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" A priest demanded, stepping into the Knights' way.

"Out of the way!" Arthur ordered, shoving the priest aside. His most trusted Knight, Lancelot, a tall man with dark eyes and darker curls peered at their surroundings with disgust.

"Is this the work of your god?" Lancelot spat. "Is this how he answers your prayers?" he scoffed. Arthur glared at his friend.

"See if there's any still alive," Arthur ordered, and his Knights quickly went to do as asked. Dagonet found a boy; and Arthur soon found himself looking into the eyes of two young women. The two could not look more different from each other, but the two were curled together as if sisters. Arthur drew his sword, swinging it against the chain that held the cell shut. The grate fell with a hideous bang as the chain broke. "Lancelot," Arthur called. "I need your help," he added.

The dark-haired man trotted over quickly, gazing into the cell. "Well, hello there, my sweet. Can you climb out?" he asked gently, his eyes focusing on the younger, smaller girl inside.

The girl grimaced and began to shift, but the woman held onto her fast. "She will bleed again, if she moves," She uttered hoarsely.

Arthur and Lancelot traded glances, the latter nodding. "Alright, then I will come in," Lancelot said undeterred, climbing in carefully, picking his footing through the bones carefully. The woman let her hold on the girl relax as Lancelot gently slipped his arms around the girl, lifting her from the ground. The girl let out a cry of pain, her hold tightening on Lancelot's sleeve.

Lancelot froze at her sound of pain, his eyes shooting to Arthur, full of anger. He climbed out of the cell with the girl held like a treasure in his arms. "Two children, Arthur," He hissed to his friend once he'd straightened and held the girl securely. "This is who your god punishes? Women and children?"

"'m not a child," the girl interjected, her eyes half-lidded.

"So you say, my sweet," Lancelot uttered in response, his expression showing a little amusement.

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked back to the woman, whose gaze had not strayed. "What of you? Can you climb out?" He asked. Her gaze narrowed at him, and she moved forward stiffly, grimacing as she moved out of the cell. She made it just past the lip of her cell when she winced, showing her pain. Arthur quickly swept her up in his arms. "You're safe now, miss," he told her, frowning at the scoff she returned with. Then he made for the stairs, carrying her slight weight in his arms.

!

When Lancelot emerged from the dungeons, the girl in his arms had completely fainted, her arms swinging limply and her head lolling on his arm. "Dagonet!" he called urgently, drawing the attention from the other Knights' who had been caring for the young boy Dagonet had found.

It was Lancelot's desperate appearance and the girl's long black hair blowing in the wind that first caught Tristan's attention. And then it was the hint of blue he thought he saw on her cheekbones. His eyes widened in shock. Dagonet hastily, yet carefully, passed the boy to Bors, approaching Lancelot to look over the girl. The healer Knight cautiously trickled water down her parched throat. "She has fainted from the pain," he announced. "She is in no danger," Dagonet added.

The large knight caught sight of the cord around her neck, and curiously looked at the stone hanging on that cord. "Aeres," Dagonet sounded out, reading the stone's surface. "These markings…Tristan," he called, brushing the hair from the girl's face carefully.

Tristan was glad to have an excuse to sate his curiosity. He handed the reins of his horse to Galahad, and walked over briskly. The slight girl in Lancelot's arms bore blue-black tattoos on her cheekbones just as Tristan did. Hers were four little ovals in descending size; while his were sharp like arrows. "She is of my tribe," he said, anger growing in him. "She is a royal," Tristan added, shocking the others. "Those markings are given only to my tribe's king and his kin," he explained, holding his arms out to Lancelot.

The dark-haired Knight merely stared at Tristan in confusion. "She is of my tribe, so her care falls to me. It is my duty," Tristan said coldly, gesturing for Lancelot to hand the girl to him. Lancelot carefully did as bid, still looking confused.

"If that girl is of our royalty…how did she end up here?" Dagonet asked as Tristan wrapped the girl in his cloak, before lifting her into his arms.

Galahad glared at the others. "Don't you see what this means?" he uttered. "If our royalty is enslaved, what has happened to the others? Our families, our tribes?" He continued, laughing bitterly. "They're all gone. I say that's what this- this girl- means,"

"You don't know that. So don't you dare tell us that," Lancelot warned Galahad angrily.

"You know, there's a chance that this girl- our Princess, I suppose," Gawain received a nod from Tristan- confirming the girl's assumed rank. "She might know if something has happened. If something happened," Gawain continued simply. He turned to Tristan, helping the Scout mount the horse with the girl in his arms.

Tristan wasn't sure how to feel. He had seen many other Sarmatians, enslaved by Rome in more than one way. But never once had he met someone from his own tribe- a royal and his princess, no less.

Their tribe, the Siraces, were the dominant ruling tribe of the western edge of Scythia- Or Sarmatia, as they preferred to call it. By the markings on Aeres' cheeks, she was Tristan's princess…if not his queen. Tristan's own markings declared him as a _şahin_ , a personal guard of the king's family. He had been meant to return to his tribe once his years for Rome were up, and finally become the şahin he had been destined to be after his king- likely Aeres' father- had chosen him as a youth.

' _What a cruel twist of fate it is…the fickle bitch,_ ' Tristan chuckled darkly. Tristan had found finally found his charge…enslaved and imprisoned by Romans; thousands and thousands of leagues from their home.

Tristan did not know about his brothers-in-arms' tribes, but seeing Aeres here, now, as a slave; meant that his tribe had been wiped out. For Aeres' father, King Attaces, would rather and probably had died before letting his kin be taken and enslaved by Rome. The scout was eager to speak with his new charge, but he had to acknowledge the chance that she did not remember her home or her father.

Aeres was young - so young that it burned Tristan to see her body bruised and abused as it was. She could not have seen more than fifteen or sixteen winters pass, though Tristan leaned towards the former. He thought he remembered that the Queen had been heavy with child when Tristan had left to serve Rome.

Her warm cheek shifted as his horse, Iseult, pawed at the ground and their company began to move forward, moving to press her already chilled flesh against his cold cuirass. Tristan gently pulled the cloak he'd wrapped around her up to cover her flesh from his armor and the icy winds around them.

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 **A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I appreciate them! Please review again :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**War Dreams**

 **Part 1: Little Girl Lost**

 **Chapter 3**

Their company was moving at a snail's pace. It had been several hours since they had started traveling and Aeres had yet to wake. After a short time, Dagonet had suggested that Aeres ride in the wagon with him, Guinevere and Lucan - the other two who had been imprisoned in the dungeons with her.

Tristan had been reluctant to let Aeres from his sight, especially with the Roman woman, Fulcinia, someone who had _owned_ Aeres - helping Dagonet tend to injuries. But it was Guinevere who cradled Aeres' head in her lap and hissed at Fulcinia any time she drew near. That, at least, reassured Tristan. He did not trust the Woad woman, but her protectiveness over Aeres could not be faked.

In the wagon with Dagonet, Aeres was likely in the best care she had had access to since she was a child. For a while, Tristan had to ride ahead scouting, but now he rode beside the wagon his new charge lay in. He eyed the Woad suspiciously, just as she watched him, her splinted fingers tentatively combing through Aeres' dark curls.

"Dagonet," Tristan called. He caught the large Knight's attention as he knelt at the Sarmatian girl's side, packing a poultice to her backside; from nearly head to toe. "How does the girl fare?" the scout questioned.

Dagonet returned his attention to his patient as he worked, after a quick glance. "She is well, Tristan. She sleeps fitfully; and it is probably for the best. We all know the pain of a flogging." The gentle giant answered carefully. Tristan's jaw tensed. He glanced to Aeres, whose dark hair covered most of her face, before directing his gaze to the road in front of him.

* * *

It was the gentle stroking of Aeres' cheek that gradually towed her from the land of the unconscious. Her eyelids fluttered- but they felt so heavy that she could not help but keep them closed- focusing on the low voices around her. Aeres' head lay in a soft lap, and she could feel soft linen on her skin. It was a revelation to realize that she was relatively pain-free, though her backside felt weighted down and wet. She could only hope that she wasn't bleeding.

"What crime could this child have committed to deserve the beating she received?" a low, masculine voice questioned softly. Aeres' hazy, sleep-ridden mind slowly comprehended that she was the topic of conversation.

The slender fingers on the girl's cheek stilled for a moment before continuing their affections. "She told me that she spilt wine on her master." A woman's voice responded, Guinevere, Aeres identified. There was a noise, a noise of disgust that came from the man.

"Alecto, the young master, has asked me to return her to him," the man remarked hesitantly.

Aeres' blood ran cold, a latent thrum of panic traveling through her veins.

"Arthur," Guinevere huffed. "You cannot be serious! Aeres has told me such stories of him, and his father…to return her to them would mean her death, sooner than later,"

"I do not wish to return Aeres to Alecto. I loathe slavery, but like it or not…Alecto owns her. And I am not sure I can refuse him," Arthur, whoever _that_ was, responded.

Aeres' eyes shot open, and she turned towards his voice hastily, shocking both Arthur and Guinevere. "Aeres!" Guinevere chided, trying to pull the girl back into a safer position.

But Aeres would not relent, igniting a burning pain in her backside, she reached for Arthur, trying to grasp him in any way she could. "Please Dominus, please! I don't want to go back to them! I want to be free!" She pleaded, tears springing to her eyes.

The man before her, presumably Arthur, was big-boned and dark-haired with sensitive green eyes; gave her his hand to hold onto. "Tell me of your life with them, Aeres," he requested gently. She could see his eyes soften at her panic, and she only hoped she could sway him.

"I was slave to Dominus' parents first, since I was a child. When they died, I was brought here. After a few days in the Dominus' household, Domina gave me to the young Dominus." Aeres began uncertainly.

Glancing back to Guinevere, the girl's fear became apparent. "Tell Arthur everything you've told me, Aeres. He is a good man, he won't let them harm you again," the Woad instructed her, receiving a glare from the Roman. He did not want to promise the poor girl anything, for if he did, it would be much worse if he could not succeed.

Aeres swallowed thickly, looking back to Arthur. "Dominus Cato and his wife Iulia were elderly when they purchased me. They spoiled me, raising me like their own child. They both died when I was around twelve winters old. Then men came. They beat me and bound me like a criminal and forced me onto a ship where we sailed here.

"It was a terrible voyage. Not that I have ever been on another. It was on that voyage that a man took me for the first time," Aeres' voice cracked at the end, seeing a flash of pity cross Arthur's otherwise expressionless face. "There were many such times on that voyage. They were bad men, they beat and hurt me if I didn't do as they said. I found out once I got here that those bad men had been promised extra coin if they broke me in for Dominus Marius' household. You see, Dominus knew his parents had a light hand, so he knew that their slaves would have to be retrained," she continued.

Arthur's shoulders lowered and tensed, gripping the girl's hand a little tighter. "You were, _are_ , just a child," he said in a low voice.

Aeres averted her eyes from Arthur at his words, finding Guinevere's encouraging gaze once again. "When I first arrived in Dominus' household, I worked in the kitchens and wherever I was needed. I was scared and tried to avoid the notice of men in the household, but it didn't work. They took me whenever they pleased, didn't care if I was beaten for not completing my task. It got better when the Domina gave me to the young Dominus' service," she recounted.

"He would keep me busy all day. If I wasn't doing work for him, we'd play games. I'd be away from the men all day long. But once night came…I had to go back to the sleeping quarters and they'd take me again and again, one after another." Arthur raised a hand to cover his mouth.

Aeres raised her free hand to rake through her hair. "When we got older, the young Dominus took a fancy to me too, and he didn't like the thought of the other men touching me. So he had me sleep on a pallet in his chambers, or in his bed if he liked." She gave a hoarse, bitter laugh. "Like all other men, the young Dominus took what he wanted." Aeres paused, thinking carefully. "He was kinder. He didn't beat. But he wasn't gentle, neither," she continued, waving her free hand as she spoke.

"I got big with child once." Aeres remarked, making Arthur's eyes shoot to meet hers. "Just after the young Dominus took me into his bed. They couldn't be sure who fathered my baby and the Dominus didn't want any bastards anyway. He had me beaten until I lost the child. Since then the cook has given me tea to keep men's seed from growing in me."

Arthur's horrified look only grew until Aeres had to look away. "I don't know what else to tell you. Just please don't make me go back, I wanna- I wanna _stay_ with Guinevere," the girl begged with a pitiful expression. The Roman merely stood, leaving the wagon and its occupants without a word.

Aeres turned to look at Guinevere with a fearful expression. The Woad merely wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her close again. "You will be free. _Stay_ free," the woman whispered to her. "By his power or mine," she promised.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Please keep reviewing :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**War Dreams**

 **Part 1: Little Girl Lost**

 **Chapter 4**

Tristan returned from scouting ahead to see his commander arguing with the Roman boy, Alecto, with Lancelot at his side. He paid them no mind, instead riding on back to the wagon that held Aeres and the Woad woman. He was surprised yet pleased to see the girl was finally awake. He was, though, struck with an uncertainty of how to introduce himself - or communicate with her at all.

But their conversation started so easily - and suddenly! The girl glanced at him, her eyes growing wide when she saw the marks on his cheeks. She clambered towards the side of the wagon despite Guinevere's protests, and leaned on the open side. "You have tattoos like mine, well, not _exactly_ like mine," Aeres remarked brightly.

"Yes," Tristan responded quickly. "Do you know what mine mean? And what yours mean?"

Her expression shifted to befuddlement. Aeres raised a hand to trace the tattoos on her cheeks. "They mean something?" She inquired, brows furrowing.

"Yes," Tristan murmured, pondering on how to ask her about her past, or more specifically how much she remembered before being enslaved.

Aeres rested her chin on her arms. "I think my father had these…" she mused.

Tristan looked up sharply. "What do you remember of your father, Malekeh?" he questioned.

"What does Malekeh mean?" Aeres asked in return.

"It's your title," Tristan offered simply, hesitantly.

He was bewildered by her sudden downtrodden expression. "Does it mean slave?" Aeres asked, the corners of her lips pulling downward.

"Quite the opposite, actually. 'Malekeh' means queen." Tristan responded. "Those tattoos on your cheeks mean something. You are no simple slave, Aeres." He told her.

It was clear that the young girl did not understand by the expression on her face. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, and her pale blue eyes were blank, empty of any comprehension. So Tristan repeated his question. "What do you remember of your father, of your tribe?"

Aeres' plump lips parted, and it was a few moments before she has formulated an answer. "I remember little, Knight, before the Romans came," she answered, eyeing him carefully.

"I am Tristan, Malekeh. We are of the same tribe," he told her. She again looked at him in bewilderment.

"How do you know this?" Aeres questioned.

"Those markings on your cheeks," he answered, gesturing to her face. "Only our tribe, the Siraces, bear those markings,"

"What do they mean? These markings?" she asked, raising her hand to brush her fingers along the slight raised skin of her markings.

"The tattoos on your cheeks mark you as royalty,"

"Royalty? I'm a slave." Aeres said, brows furrowed.

"That is what Rome made you. It isn't _who_ you are. _What_ you are. _Never_ forget that," Tristan spat, a hot rush of rage coursing through his veins.

It was clear by Aeres' expression that his words were a shock. Her gaze fixed on the ground passing by them for a few moments. Then she lifted those familiar pale blue eyes to meet Tristan's. "And what do your markings make you?" she asked softly.

Tristan hesitated. It had been his duty to protect this girl's family, but he hadn't, not in their hour of need. It wasn't his fault, he knew, but the injustice, the outrage at all, sat like a stone at the pit of his stomach. "My tattoos mark me as a _şahin_ , a protector of the king's family. Your family, Malekeh. Your father gave me these markings just before I left to serve my sentence to Rome. When I returned, I would have taken up my post."

"The king? My father? How are you so sure I am who you think I am? Anyone might have given me these markings," Aeres said, laughing bitterly.

Tristan fixed his piercing gaze even more firmly upon the girl. "I know those eyes, Malekeh. They are your father's. And that hair, those dark curls, those are your mother's. I knew them, and I see their child before me. There is no doubt in my mind." he told her, voice clear with emotion.

Aeres' eyes filled with tears. "Even if that is who I was born, it is not who I am any longer. I am a slave," she said quietly.

Tristan led his horse closer to the wagon and held his hand out to her. After a moment of hesitation, Aeres reached out and took it. Tristan squeezed her hand, a rare gesture of affection and comfort. His brothers-in-arms riding nearby watched with surprise. "Not anymore," he promised lowly. Aeres looked at the older man in pure shock before Guinevere called her back to rest.

* * *

Tristan sat with his brothers-in-arms around the campfire. The caravan had finally slowed to a stop for the night, allowing the whole company to rest. After Tristan's talk with Aeres, the girl had been coaxed to rest by the Woad. Unfortunately, Aeres had found the bumpy travel too painful to sleep through, so the stop for the night couldn't have come too soon for her. Now she rested peacefully in the wagon with only the Woad to guard her. It made Tristan uneasy, but he had been sure to position himself close to the wagon

"Brother," Galahad called, trying to stir Tristan from his thoughts. But Tristan stayed locked in his mind, staring into the flames of the fire before him. "Tristan," he tried again. After a moment, Tristan glanced up, expression blank. "What did the girl say of our homeland?" Galahad questioned.

"Nothing." Tristan replied tersely.

"Nothing?" Gawain asked.

Tristan growled, taking a swig from his wineskin. "I asked her what she remembered of her father. Of her tribe. She said that she remembered little. I did not want to push the girl, when she is so clearly fragile." He turned to glare at Galahad, his last words clearly meant as warning to the youngest knight.

"I'm sorry that wanting to know what happened in our homeland is such a terrible thing," Galahad said angrily. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped, suddenly looking not angry, but sad instead. "I don't wish to frighten her, Tristan. She's just a girl. But she's ours, and she must know something,"

"She's not just a girl," Tristan bit out. "Aeres is our queen, and it is your duty, all of our duty, to protect her. To free her,"

"Tris, how can you be sure she's our queen?" Gawain asked. The others sat up, listening carefully.

"Because I knew King Attaces and his Queen Lysippe. They would have died before they let Romans enslave their only child." Tristan answered. He looked coldly at the others.

"Perhaps you forget, brothers, that I was a man grown already, when the Romans came for me. Attaces was only a few years older than I, and a warrior the likes of which I have never seen. It was Attaces who gave me this blade, and these markings," Tristan said, gesturing to the curved sword at his side, and then to his cheeks.

"So they are dead then," Dagonet said.

Tristan nodded. "If not the whole tribe. If not our whole people,"

"A dark day, this is," Bors remarked, grumbling around a mouthful of bread.

"No," Lancelot interjected. "The dark day was the day, many years ago, when our ruling tribe was likely wiped out, all except for this girl Aeres, our little queen," he said darkly.

"Do you know what the name means, brothers? Aeres?" Tristan asked, staring into the flames. His brothers grumbled around him. "War. It means war." he continued lowly. "The queen Lysippe was Greek. She came to our land as a wanderer, a warrior, and fell in love with Attaces, before my very eyes. She claimed to be the descendent of Ares, many generations ago. It is no surprise that she named her daughter thus," he explained, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"If our people are gone, what is there to go back to?" Galahad posed in a melancholy tone.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review :)**


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